


A Little Wicked

by DemonicPiano



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Cardverse, Cardverse AU, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, M/M, They just talk, and contemplate murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23335000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicPiano/pseuds/DemonicPiano
Summary: Arthur Kirkland was going to be the Queen of Spades. Refusing to a life of being subservient to the King, he works up a plot to slay Alfred, who might have a different say on the matter.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 85





	A Little Wicked

The King of Spades was going to die.

Arthur was going to kill him. The Queen. Ahem, the Queen-to-be.

After years of being groomed, poked, prodded, pushed and pawned to be a perfect Queen-to-be, a little throne warmer to sit beside the King and look pretty, any lesser man would cower and cave. Generations upon generations of etiquette and training were shoved in his poor brain-space, but to let it happen would be a joke. May the Gods know that they would need to turn over before they catch a tear in Arthur's eye. The Kingdom will be his, and his alone.

Yes, Arthur was going to kill the King.

A rattle of porcelain cups. A squawk of a cushion underneath monarchy's rear. A quiet, "Yes, sir," of a maid, then hot water filled King-to-be Alfred's fifth cup. Or was it the sixth? Either way, the time was near. The setting was perfect and nearly prime for a Kingly end—off to the bottom west side of the palace, a parlor for those extravagant and loathsome parties (but now a place to rest in the meantime) was nestled in the mountain to oversee the sunset. Goodbye, day, and goodbye, sire.

The maid took her cart and scurried away, leaving the Royals to their own for some 'quality bonding time.' They were alone besides a single guard across the parlor standing beside double doors. It would take him a good few seconds to reach his Queen and King if needed.

As soon as the latch met wood, Alfred's blue eyes pivoted to Arthur's face, wide to plea to live, and his lips parted as his voice squeaked and cracked in inevitable fear, "Can you believe it?!"

Yes, Arthur's desires were about to come true.

"We're going to get married!"

Then, they caved.

If only Arthur had managed to slip something fatal in the tea beforehand...

"Yes, Alfred," he kept his voice low, as always to not equate to the King's so-called mighty tone. If only he could admit, _'Enjoy your tea while you can.'_ Instead, Arthur agreed, "Soon."

Alfred set a palm on Arthur's knee, ignoring or simply oblivious how the Queen-to-be tightened his clutch against his own cup. His tone grew thin with an excited whisper, "Do you know how happy that makes me?"

There goes the guilt trip.

_'Please don't kill me. I have so much to live for.'_

Arthur almost sighed. He pulled a tight-lipped smile at the last second, and received the stars from Alfred's eyes in return. Although slaying a King would be such a hassle...

No, he had to do it. Soon. Eventually. One day. Alfred had meet his end. No, he may have not ever struck Arthur (yet), or anybody really for that matter (yet!), as far as anybody witnessed. No, he rather laugh off grievances instead of raising his voice. Ugh, and no, the pretty little fool hadn't sparked a war or plague or revolt in the time he settled at the castle to begin his life of luxury, learning how to puff his chest out and stamp his name—whatever they do to ready a King.

But he was a King, and a King must die.

Arthur nearly felt bad. A twinge in his stomach suggested that maybe...maybe he could find a way to preserve that lovely and youthful optimism, to keep that lively grin on Alfred's face, but it had to go. What would it take to make it stay, all of the life in Arthur's eyes, perhaps?

The King had to die because he was inevitably greedy.

Alfred shoved two more biscuits in his mouth, catching his fiancé staring in disdain and disbelief. He broadcasted the chewed bits as he tried to stifle a giggle. With a mouth still occupied, he prompted, "You know how happy that makes me, Artie?"

The King had to die because he was needy.

"How happy does that make you, Alfred?"

A gulp. Down the hatch. Alfred jerked forward to smush his wet lips to Arthur's cheek, who caught the whiff of cookies on the Prince's breath. He pulled away and ducked his head, turning pink and giggling again. It must have been a missed joke. Arthur resisted the urge to wipe his face. "You're funny, Arthur."

Would he wait until Arthur had a blade in hand, how funny he would be!

Alfred welcomed his head to Arthur's shoulder, but quickly perked up against a tense body. "What?"

"Nothing, sire."

A shrug. Alfred snagged another biscuit.

The King had to die because he was oblivious.

"You know, I'm going to eat all of these if you don't want one."

"Go ahead, dear."

Alfred did.

A shame. He was just a young fool, so close and so perfect, as a King should be. Ah, but again, a King is a King, power-hungry (and plain hungry, apparently) and strong, and a whole cartload of potential that was dying to be wasted.

"You know," _munch, munch,_ "when they told me I had to get betrothed before I get on the throne, I was like, 'Ugh! Are you kidding?' Like, there were sooo many balls and meet-and-greets and dates just to run through a bunch of snobs and people who obviously wanted all the riches that came with the throne..." Brief unfocus, but then light flickered in Alfred's eyes once more, "Turns out, you were right there, hiding in the gardens the whole time." He nudged their shoulders, cooing, "The Queen's reclusive son. Well, one of them. Ha-ha!"

Arthur kept his gaze to the cup in his lap. "Right."

"Isn't that just great?"

Arthur didn't do anything. He didn't want to do anything. "Great."

Alfred's persistent smile finally died into something else. Something a little more sour. He ducked his head, busying himself to straighten his teacup back on its saucer before reapplying the cheer, "I never got that from you. The wanting. The... _conniving._ You did everything expected of you so perfectly."

Too bad. The thought made Arthur clench his jaw.

The King had to die because he had already fallen into place.

"So...what'cha going to do when you're the Queen?"

Dump hot tea all over the future King's face-

Arthur slowly set his cup down on their table and drew a shaky inhale. "Whatever Queens do best." Suffer in silence. Live someone else's life.

The parlor was quiet for a few moments.

Alfred leaned over to catch Arthur's eyes. "Are you really?"

Arthur found himself mimicking the bewildered look, "What else is there for me to do?"

"Seriously?"

Arthur found himself scowling at his King.

"Well, that's disappointing."

A scoff. He was really letting himself go now.

Alfred lolled his head to one side, scrunching a cheek, before giving himself a wag and leaning to the other side. "Come on," he pleaded. Nothing. "Really?"

"You should know better than that." Arthur almost found himself reasoning to make himself show mercy. "A Queen's duty is to sit there as a throne piece. To be there as...as a broodmare to her King, or a means to an end to his law if needed." He met Alfred's gaze squarely, "Don't you know that is hardly ever needed?"

"What...that's..." Alfred sighed, "Arthur, that's dumb."

The King had to die because age old traditions and laws were dumb.

"Please tell me that's you looking to a life of misery and not who you really are!"

Arthur lamely shrugged.

He earned a groan. Alfred even deeply tipped his head back with it, "Arthur. I don't want that."

"Well, I don't care what you want," Arthur snipped, "because soon, you're going to be in your grave."

Ah, crud. To put it lightly.

The shock broadcasted on Arthur's face. He manually clapped his jaw shut.

Surprisingly, Alfred didn't screech for the guard to lob off his rouge Queen's head. He kept calm, or at least his voice low and level, "Are you the one that's going to put me there?"

Arthur quickly turned his head away. The guard by the door swayed foot-to-foot, steadily staring.

"Arthur?"

Then came the shame in a murky hot swamp to fill his entire being with its ache. Despite it all, with the years to churn vengeance, Arthur couldn't look at Alfred's face for long. It wasn't Alfred's fault that he had been chosen as King and inevitably, had to die. He didn't ask for it. Neither did Arthur. "Yes."

Alfred pursed his lips and nodded once, as if to understand. The clink of armor shifting from the Knight foretold of a hand gripping a hilt. He rose from the couch and held up a palm before slowly turning to gaze down at Arthur's rosy cheeks. Locking into his supposed assailant's eyes, the King-to-be did not waver. "I know."

"You..." Arthur barely got the words out, "You know."

A near smile. After everything. "Yeah. I know. Unless that sourpuss look is just your face?" Alfred stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets and let his eyes wander around the ceiling with a sigh. "Yep. You're really going to...do that. Jeez, not even King yet and people want my head. Guess I better get used to it, huh?"

Jail-time. No, that would be too light. The palace would be crying for Arthur's blood. How dare he desire a life of his own. How dare he desire equal footing.

The King had to die. Now.

Arthur thrashed in his seat, glancing around the room. To break one of the plates and slice a neck. To grab a candelabra and gouge an eye. The thoughts made him nauseous. He didn't want to do it.

He had to.

Before the tears would come. It was getting to be too late. They would see how weak Arthur really was—all the more reason to step on his head and keep him down.

"I've seen you work your magic," Alfred blissfully continued. "What kind of books you read. The way you carry yourself. Gods," a smile played on his lips with a sigh, "you'd be perfect for the thrones. Do you really want to do that alone?"

"I don't have a choice in the end. Either I do, or I don't."

"So you're not going to kill me because of who I am, but _what_ I am? A King? You don't like Kings?"

The weight of Kings and Kingdoms pressed on Arthur's shoulders. He could practically hear the cries of those that came before him, and their lives going down the scummiest of drains. "How could I? Look what they dragged all the other Queens through."

Alfred pursed his lips for a bit, until the guard let out another nervous twitch that made him smile. "I guess that's fair. Okay." A vigorous nod. "Do it."

A scoff. The word hardly came out, "What."

"I won't stop you," Alfred chirped, even going as far as holding his arms out in an unthreatening manner. "End me now, so I don't have a lifetime of you hating me. Rule the Kingdom alone, if that's what you really think it best, because I sure would never want to do it."

Arthur slowly shook his head.

Alfred curled his nose, still simmering his grin, making for a distasteful expression. "Why, because my back isn't turned? Do you want me to turn it?"

"No, you...!" The spike in Arthur's voice quickly fell, "You idiot. You just found out I'm going to straight up murder you. How are you so calm about that?"

"Are you though?" Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin when the Prince suddenly bent forward to plant his palms against the back of the couch, on both sides to tent over and trap his 'assailant,' "What if I said that was a King's order? Would you do it?"

"I-I don't-"

"Um," the guard started.

Alfred leaned in, filling Arthur's gaze with his blue eyes and relentless grin, "Then what do you want?"

Pressure clawed its way up Arthur's throat, and he ducked his head to gulp, but his betrothed wasn't letting up. He let out a teeny scoff to level himself, but that was enough permission for the fury of waterworks to bubble up from the pits of years of suppression. Alfred would have to be slain if it was to be desired before the tears came. After all, who would rejoice in the death of the future and potential? If it could only be. "I don't want to be useless," he pleaded against his better self. "That's all."

Past those stupid, stupid and eager tears, Alfred swept over his face in a quick motion before pulling away. Arthur kept back a soft sob. His life would be over before it ever began. All because of one stupid slip-up. He must have not been as resilient as he thought; the stress had snuck up on him before he knew it.

Alfred, however, turned away almost gracefully, not sharp as a vengeful monarch would. "You're worthless pretending to be useless," he keened. "To me. To the Kingdom." Back again with a blue flame in his eyes, "To yourself!"

Arthur resisted the urge to hang his head again. Despite the damp sensation sticking to his cheeks, he kept his head level to the Prince. "So what?"

"So what? So what?" Alfred sounded utterly baffled. "Quit actin' dumb, that's what! I know you better than that, and I want you to be my Queen as much as I want to be your King!" He glanced away to lick at his lips, stilling as a certain thought came over him. "Let's...let's rule the Kingdom together, and I mean _together._ The Kingdom would be ours. The people could be ours. All those rules we could change. The world! It could all be ours! The future is coming. The land is changing. Expectations are changing. Let's begone with those gross and outdated wastes of potential."

Arthur occupied his twitchy fingers by picking at the inseam of his slacks. He already overstepped countless of boundaries in an expanse of a few moments, so he dared yet again to jest, "Is that you pleading for your life?"

Alfred's smile returned ten-fold to steal Arthur's breath away. "No. That's me pleading for the Kingdom's."

The guard glanced back and forth, looking just as stumped as the laughter sounded coming from Arthur.

"Oh," Alfred held up a finger, "or you could kill me." Then, he took his hand into a sweep before himself, a final bow, "I am at your mercy, my darling and murderous Queen."

"Don't belittle me now," Arthur lightheartedly warned, patting his face dry with a sleeve. "I'm still contemplating it."

"Then that's your ultimatum. Be with me, or kill me."

The Queen-to-be allowed himself to look, _really_ look at this man for the first time in a long, long while, since their first meeting as optimistic youths. He was handsome, for sure, with that childish squish still to his cheeks and hope in his deep blues. Passionate. Powerful. Righteous. _His_ betrothed. How those rich boys and dressy girls would fan and fawn for his attention, only to be brushed by with an easy laugh as he ended in Arthur's company. Arthur glanced between Alfred's offered hand and his face, pulling a goofy smile to match. Looks like he got caught into the onslaught of optimism. This young King-to-be may be right. To the darkest pits with those rules! Arthur was going to be whatever he wanted. He was going to have whatever he wanted. And Alfred was going to allow it to happen.

As a token of gratitude, he took Alfred's hand.

"I'll spare you. For now."

"Let's rule together."

The King had to die because Arthur wanted to love him.

Yes, he will give Alfred the most drawn-out end possible; one where he will grow old and watch Arthur take everything for himself. The Kingdom, the people, the rules, and the world will all be his...and so would the King!

Misery loves company, after all.

The guard stood still against the wall, shocked to stay. "Oh, Gods!" He exclaimed once the royals cleared out in a fit of titters and devious plots, "Are we really going to let those guys lead our Kingdom?!"


End file.
